4 AM
by Madblossom
Summary: A classic sickfic, very little plot. Inspired by a real life road trip with a 9-year-old boy. Warning: vomit


2 PM

They don't usually stop driving unless there's a fever or both of them are too sick to be behind the wheel. A lifetime on the road has meant that many hours have been spent sweating and shivering in the backseat of the Impala, clutching a dollar store bucket and praying for a smooth stretch of highway. Side of the road pit stops are the norm, why bother with gas stations that make you purchase something in exchange for the privilege of securing the key to their rancid bathroom, when there were perfectly serviceable trees within walking distance of pretty much every highway they've travelled.

They're on their way home to the bunker from a straight forward salt and burn up in Seattle. It's about a 24 hour drive, give or take. Either they'll drive all night, switching off turns in the driver's seat while the other sleeps in the back, or they'll find a motel somewhere along the way. No way does Cas get a turn driving. He can, of course, but Dean isn't letting up control of his baby to someone he's only known a few years. Hell, he only just started letting Sam take the wheel and he's known the kid since birth.

This one didn't start out too badly. A deep gurgle low in his belly, and after a few minutes of uncomfortable vigilance to see if it would progress to something worse, Sam asks Dean to pull over. They've been travelling together for so long that there's no embarrassment about bodily functions, however, there's usually a guarantee of some good-natured teasing about back door complaints. They are brothers, after all.

5 PM

Dean's pulled over eight times in the past three hours, Sam sprinting awkwardly to squat behind bushes and trees along the side of the road. Sam's not really feeling sick, more annoyed that he's in this situation. He returns from his latest trip into the woods with a scowl on his face, finding Dean whispering to Cas in the backseat and grinning wickedly.

As soon as the car is back on the highway, Dean and Cas begin to chant something that Sam hasn't heard in years, something that Dean used to recite to make Sam giggle when they were boys, travelling with Dad and weathering minor gastrointestinal disturbances in much the same way as they are today. Dean has obviously been teaching it to Cas during Sam's absences from the car.

"When you're slidin' into first and your pants are 'bout to burst, diarrhea, diarrhea."

"When you're roundin' up on two, and your shorts are filled with goo, diarrhea, diarrhea."

Sam rolls his eyes and chuckles carefully, not entirely trusting his gut to keep it in during a belly laugh. He feels a bit better, knowing that his travelling companions don't feel as annoyed with his rebellious stomach as he does.

10 PM

Five hours later, and an exhausted pair of hunters pull in to a motel parking lot, ex-angel in tow. A motel, only because Cas has been singing that stupid chant incessantly, coming up with at least 200 new verses after Dean ran out of the ones that he remembered. Dean doesn't think that he can listen to one more second of it while trapped in a car with a brother emitting toxic fumes and issuing panicked requests for urgent pit stops every half hour or so. It stopped being funny at least two hours ago, but Cas thinks it's the best song he's ever heard. Dean's had to pull over twice for Cas, fearing that he'd piss himself from laughing so hard at his own rhymes. Bad enough that Sam's a risk to the upholstery, but he'd lose it if he had to clean angel-pee off the seats after listening to him go hoarse rambling off line after never-frickin'-ending line of that damn song.

Sam crawls gratefully into the saggy motel bed. Dean and Cas go in search of a beer and a burger. Cas has been ordered to shut up, or he'll be sleeping in the car tonight. If Cas complies they'll share the other bed in the room, neither wanting to risk close proximity to Sam's tailpipe. Sam's used to sharing with Dean when Cas is travelling with them, but he completely understands his brother's reluctance to bunk with him tonight. Truth be told, he's starting to feel kind of gross. There was a brief contemplation of a shower when he got to the room, but the idea was abandoned as soon as he sat on the bed to take his shoes off. He'll shower in the morning when he feels a bit better.

4 AM

Sam wakes up and immediately knows that things are going to get ugly. He looks over at the other bed and sees Dean sprawled belly-down on the mattress, arm dangling over the edge. Cas is snuggled up to him, face tucked in to Dean's left armpit. "Dean," Sam whispers, "you awake?" There's no movement from the other side of the room. "Dean, wake up, I don't feel good." Still nothing.

Sam feels his stomach lurch and he struggles to get out of the bed. Somehow, the sheets are tangled around his midsection, so he ends up just taking them with him into the bathroom.

He crouches down by the toilet, breathing heavily through his nose. Gags once, twice, nothing comes up. He hasn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, so he's not surprised.

His stomach eases up for a moment, and Sam moves from his crouch to sitting with his back resting against the cool plastic coating on the bathtub. He wonders, briefly, if anyone ever actually voluntarily takes baths in motels. Gross. He sits like this, eyes closed for what seems like an eternity, until he feels Dean's hand touch his sweaty hair.

"Not so good, huh, Sammy?" Dean asks. Sam shakes his head with the slightest motion possible to convey the message, "No," he whispers. "Throw up yet?" Again Sam gives a tiny shake of his head. "You gonna?" This time Sam nods.

Dean sits down beside Sam and rolls up one of the thin motel towels, placing it on his shoulder. He reaches around and pulls Sam towards him. Sam rests his head wearily against Dean's shoulder. Neither speak, this is something that they've done countless times before. They know that there's nothing that can be done, except ride it out. They also both know that it's a lot more bearable to ride it out together.

A few short minutes later, Sam is hit by a wave of nausea that leaves him shaking. He repositions himself over the toilet, bracing his head against his forearm draped across the seat. He spits into the bowl, and takes a deep breath. It won't be long now. He feels Dean's hand on the back of his neck, just as he starts retching. This time he does throw up, a small amount of stringy bile. He then dry heaves, again and again, until he's sure that his ribs will break. Dean's hand stays steady, comforting his brother, even though he's wishing that there was more he could to to make this go away.

Sam takes a shuddering breath, and sits back, once again resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "You good?" Dean asks, and Sam realizes that he does feel much better. Empty, sore, and exhausted, but better. He nods, and lets Dean help him up to rinse his mouth, then allows Dean to lead him back to bed, where he's asleep seconds after his face lands on the pillow.

11 AM

They've been on the road for about two hours. Dean figured a late start would be in everyone's best interest, given that neither he nor Sam had much sleep last night.

Sam's been dozing on and off in the passenger seat since they left. He's just nodding off again when he feels the car swerve sharply to the right. He looks up and sees Dean fumbling with his belt buckle as he's making a mad dash towards the bushes at the side of the road. When Dean returns, he tosses the keys to Sam, saying "I hate you a little bit right now." Sam grins, and slides over to the driver's side. As soon as they're driving, Sam feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around and Cas has an excited smile on his face. Sam knows what he wants. Dean groans, because he knows what's coming too. Really, it's only fair. Together, Sam and Cas start chanting, as loud as they can, "When you're slidin' into first..."

Dean looks at his watch and sighs, before shifting in his seat trying to find a comfortable position. 10 more hours before they're home.


End file.
